


Wildflowers

by justcallmecappy



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Cute romantic fluff, F/M, One-Shot, Pairings that could have been, Realizing Feelings, Romance, spoiler free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24608212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcallmecappy/pseuds/justcallmecappy
Summary: Siora and Kurt are tasked with gathering firewood for the camp that evening. The forest is calm and peaceful, and the moment of quiet brings out long-harboured feelings between the two ...
Relationships: Kurt/Siora (GreedFall)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Wildflowers

The day was late, and slowly waning into a quiet evening as the company arrived at the sheltered plateau.

De Sardet took a sweeping look around at the bare patch of ground bordered by forest, nodded approvingly, and announced, “Let’s rest. We’ll make camp here.”

A sense of relief seemed to overcome the company. They had spent the greater part of the day trekking from San Matheus, and they were travel-worn and weary.

They soon began to busy themselves with setting up camp for the evening. As always, they drew lots, setting the company up in pairs for each duty – de Sardet and Vasco were tasked with hunting and dinner preparation, while Aphra and Petrus were to set up the tents.

Siora looked at the lot she had drawn – a wooden chip marked with an ink drawing of a bundle of wood, which meant firewood duty. She glanced at Kurt, who had also drawn the same lot, and who had looked up from it the same time as she did to meet her glance.

“Well,” he said, “let’s get to it, then.”

They each picked up a wood axe and set off into the forest.

A while away from the camp was a small, woodland glade, a bare patch of grass and wildflowers opened to the sky. It was a quiet, peaceful space – the late-afternoon sunlight streamed past the trees into the clearing, casting it in dappled shades of gold and green, while in the undergrowth, foxes chased quietly after wild pheasants.

Siora stepped into the clearing, immediately taken by how peaceful and beautiful it was. The calm and the quiet made it seem like a hallowed space – she listened as the million voices of _en on mil frichtimen_ whispered in greater strength and clarity here, as if stirred awake by the warmth of the afternoon sunlight.

She found a bare patch of soft grass and knelt, pressing her palm to the earth, and listened as the grass, the stones, the wind and the trees sang to her in the wordless song of the island, their small voices countless and glittering and soft. All at once her spirits felt refreshed, like the earth after rain.

She opened her eyes, and noticed Kurt had laid down his wood axe and armful of firewood, and had stepped into the middle of the glade. There, he stood, hands on his hips and face raised towards the sky, basking in the warmth of the sun – as if copying Siora’s own moment of meditation.

“Just what we need,” Kurt said. “A bit of quiet.”

For all that has been happening on Teer Fradee, Siora thought, calm days like this were rare and far between. “Yes,” she agreed. “It is very peaceful here.”

They fell into silence. Since leaving the camp, they hadn’t spoken much – there wasn’t really much that needed to be said. While the chatter from the rest of the company carried far from the campsite (Aphra and Petrus locked in some philosophical banter, while de Sardet and Vasco discussed how much ammunition they should carry), this deep in the forest, all noise seemed muted and far away.

Kurt began to wander around the glade – and, curiously, started gathering wildflowers: white daisies and blue cornflowers, delicate pimpernels and shy buttercups, all forming a tiny bouquet in his hands.

Siora watched him as he went about his flower-gathering. He caught her eye and smiled. “I’m not as well-versed as you or Aphra on the island plants.” He held up his handful of blooms. “None of these are poisonous, I hope?”

“No, they’re perfectly harmless,” she said, “but you should have asked me _before_ you started picking them.”

Kurt let out a quick laugh. He seemed to be in good spirits. Then, he found a grassy patch to sit, and, sprig of flowers in his lap, began to weave them.

For all the time they had spent together in de Sardet's company, Siora realized there was still a lot she didn’t know about Kurt.

When they first met, she found him slightly intimidating. He was stern, his brow ever-furrowed, storm-grey eyes ever-guarded and watchful. He reminded Siora of a wolf – a lone grey wolf, protective and fierce and loyal, a force to be reckoned with when he bared his fangs.

But there were sides of him that still surprised her. He had quieter, gentler moments that caught her off-guard on the rare occasions she glimpsed them: whenever he talked about his recruits, and a spark of pride lit up his eyes; or when he spoke to de Sardet and there was a protective gentleness in his voice.

 _Like sunlight peeking through stormclouds_ , Siora mused once, as she listened to him reminisce over some distant memory. His voice – usually so stormy and unyielding – rose and fell gently like summer rain.

Siora watched, entranced, as Kurt continued to weave the flowers, his hands moving deftly, the flowers beginning to form a chain as he braided them together.

“You are good with your hands,” Siora observed.

“Oh?”

“There must be nothing you cannot fix.”

Kurt chuckled, but did not look up from his work. “Did de Sardet tell you that?”

Siora thought of what she had seen several nights before: Kurt at their camp’s worktable, repairing a leather strap and buckle on his armour. He worked swiftly and deftly, measuring, stitching and hammering, so engrossed in his work he did not once look up. The light of the campfire had cast his face in stark light and shadows. 

“No,” Siora shook her head, “I just had to watch you to know.”

Kurt's smile grew distant. “I can fix most things,” he said quietly. “Just not everything.”

Very soon, he joined the ends of the chain of wildflowers to form a small wreath. In his hands, the delicate thing looked almost out-of-place – a bright, cheerful circle held against the muted colours of his battle-worn gambeson.

“What is it?” Siora asked, curious.

Kurt grinned at her. “Come here.”

She approached him, and as she drew closer, Kurt raised his hands to place the wreath of flowers on her head.

“Pretty flowers for a pretty lass,” he said.

His voice was gentle, and the smile that lit his eyes as he looked at her made Siora feel flustered for reasons she could not fathom.

She raised her hands to her head to touch the crown of flowers. “Why – I don’t – are you –” she stammered, before gathering herself – “Are you mocking me, _renaigse_?” she eventually said, with an incredulity she didn’t really feel.

Kurt laughed, but it wasn’t unkind. “No, it suits you,” he said, and in a softer voice, “pretty flower.”

Siora immediately felt her face grow hot.

And, seemingly self-conscious, Kurt looked away, scratching his chin.

“We best get going,” he said abruptly, as if overcome by newfound shyness. “See if they need any help at camp.”

He stood, gathered his armful of firewood, and made his way to the camp.

The late afternoon was waning into sunset, casting threads of gold and mauve into the deepening blue of the sky. For a moment, Siora sat by herself in the glade, gathering her thoughts.

This was another side to Kurt she hadn’t seen before. A secret, protective side that yearned to dote on others; a side he only revealed when he let his guard down.

_Like sunlight peeking through stormclouds._

And Siora realized – with curious mixture of delight and strange, anxious hope – that she wished nothing more than to be the only person to ever see it.


End file.
